Polly Pen
by Mice
Summary: After graduating university, John Darling is sent to New York by his father to grow up. Instead, he gets distracted by the barmaid at a speak easy named Polly Pen.
1. Chapter 1

Polly Pen

By Mice

Chapter 1: The Knot Here

I had not intended to spend the summer of 1922 in America. The insurance company my father worked for needed a poorly paid employee to be in New York to help with an upcoming business deal with a law office located on Wall Street. As fortune would have it, a well placed aunt of mine who had an apartment off of 7th Avenue needed someone to water her plants while she was out traveling in Africa. My father believed I would be an excellent candidate for both these jobs and that by summer's end, I would be on my way to becoming a man.

While I was not ready to grow up just yet, I was curious about the American prohibition on alcohol.

Just a few days after starting work at Gale Pearl & Riese, I had met a barrister named Leo who knew the password to a speakeasy called Knot Here. During my studies at Cambridge, I learned about Britain had resisting the temptation of giving into prohibition several times. In fact, while Britain was subject to a temporary ban on gin for a few years, we highly encouraged beer as an alternative at the time. I promised to write to my sister Wendy about how silly the Americans were being about their spirits (my younger brother Michael was still too young to appreciate the finer points in being British). I had envisioned maybe publishing my findings.

"A Highball for me and get my friend a Shirley Temple." Leo ordered our drinks from a man who reminded me of a white ape; the sort of man who shouldn't be relegated to pouring drinks in an illegal bar, but protecting it.

"You'll get what everyone else is shoving down their throats - gin, neat." His accent was Irish and his tone was surly. "The Shirley Temple is no problem."

Leo paid the Irish Ape who left to make our drinks. We went off to find a table. "It won't be your mother's gin and tonic, Johnny, but it sure will cure what ails you." Leo was older than me by ten years and had a wife and two children. Leo had taken it upon himself to show me the city; most likely to avoid said wife and children. While going over speakeasy etiquette once more (which boiled down to "don't cause trouble") and settling at a table, a motley mob broke into the bar. This caused Leo to stop talking.

The Irish Ape returned with Leo's drink. "Oh, great. The actors are here."

"Famous actors?" I asked.

"Worse." The Irish Ape set down two drinks for Leo. "Drink it while you can."

After he left, Leo explained. "Those are theater people."

"Like Broadway?"

"More like off-off-awful Broadway. So off Broadway that they don't even perform in legitimate theaters. And they will drink everything and pay for nothing." Leo held fast to his two drinks as one of the actors made way to sit at our table - a long, reed thin man with ice white eyes and a pointed grin.

"My dear old friend! I haven't seen you in years!" His accent was part standard Mid-Atlantic, part had a few drinks prior to entering the speakeasy.

"I'm not your old friend," Leo accused, trying to hide his drinks. "You're Buzz Smith. And everybody knows that Buzz Smith has got no money so why don't you just leave?"

"But you know my name, old friend! And you so kindly bought me a drink..." Buzz put a long, thin arm around Leo. "Remind me what your name is, again?"

"Leo," he answered, regretting it immediately.

"Leo! Leo the Lion - of course!" Leo slowly handed Buzz one of the drinks, knowing he was no match for the actor. "Salud, proud Lion! Thank this Androlocles for taking this thorn out of your paw." Buzz swallowed the contents of the glass quickly and kissed Leo's balding head with a loud smack.

"Shirley Temple." My drink was set in front of me by a russet haired barmaid with a soft, non-New York accent wearing a calico velvet dress. Buzz did not make a move for it. Neither did Leo. I had deducted from their reticence (and the fact that the drink was as pink as a cameo) that there was no homemade hootch in that glass. "Mind if I check your ID?"

Remembering speakeasy etiquette, I surrendered my passport to the barmaid.

"Really? You're just going to hand this to a stranger?" She opened it up, narrowing her eyes at me.

"You asked to see it."

"I was being sarcastic. Didn't anyone ever tell ya what to do in a speakeasy?"

"Yes. I was instructed to not cause any trouble."

"Yeah, well, add _don't give out your ID, your passport, your last will in testament, and so on_ to strangers, mister..." She read my passport. "Darlin'. Seriously? Your name is John Darlin'?"

"Darling?" Buzz found this immediately hilarious and hooted to signal his enjoyment at my expense. "Daaaaaahling, meet me at the yacht in an hour!" he said in a more exaggerated Mid-Atlantic accent than the one he had sported before, hands clasped at his bosom.

"It's my family's name," I weakly explained.

"Of course it is, Darlin'." The barmaid handed back my passport and prepared to return to the bar. "Where else would ya get it."

The night wore on. After Leo bought two more drinks for himself (and four more for Buzz), I left them to place another order at the bar. I got the attention of the barmaid who had served me before.

"Can I take your order, Darlin'?"

"You don't need to keep calling me that."

"Applesauce. Ya know I saw your middle name." Her smile was too evil for mortals. "So, I can either call ya Darlin' or Napoleon."

"What's wrong with John?"

The barmaid gestured to three men who had turned around, looking to see who had called their name.

"So. Ya wanna be Darlin' or Napoleon?"

"Darling." My middle name was no one's business and I hoped she would keep it private.

"Where are you from?"

"London, obviously. You saw my passport."

"Kinda got stuck on your name. Didn't get to any other details." She studied my face for a while before speaking again. "Yep. Ya got that real, authentic toffee covered speak - not like some limeys we get in here from Yorkshire or Chicago who think if they put on a real swank accent, they can turn any gal into a dumb dora. Some of them actually leave with them, expecting future filled with tiaras and tea with the queen...but they always wind up back here after finding their pocket books were nicked. Don't matter if the Joe was uglier than homemade sin, just something about the British accent that makes a Jane's insane."

"This is real a problem?"

"Not if you know your onions." She tapped her head with a blue painted fingernail. The nail matched her eyes. "What brings ya to this side of the pond? Gonna write that great British novel?"

"No. Working for my father at a law firm. I just graduated university. Cambridge." I waited to see if she would be impressed; she wasn't. "May I ask where you come from?"

"Thunderfoot, Georgia."

"Ah, Georgia." That explained her accent. "The prison state."

"Don't know if you're aware of it, Darlin', but once we established freedom from England, things changed. We've traded prisoners for peaches." She withdrew a bottle of gin from under the bar and two glasses followed it.

"How much do I owe you?"

She put one of the glasses in front of me. "On the house. I feel bad - razzin' ya about your name in front of Buzz and you're friend. Plus, if ya ever come in here again, Buzz'll be able to get a few drinks out of you. And on top of all that, you're gonna have to drink this terrible gin." She placed the other glass in front of her and doled out the gin between us. "Ya got it real rough, Darlin'."

I raised my glass to give a toast. "To my new friend."

She smiled as she raised her glass. Much less evil. "The name's Polly Pen."

I drank the gin, resolute to not show how much I despised it. While I managed not to spit it out, it took a while for it to go down.

Polly had no trouble gulping it.

"Welcome to New York City, Darlin'. Care for another?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Polly Pen**

**By Mice**

_Chapter 2: Escape from Mermaid Lagoon_

I had long told my nieces and nephews of their Uncle John being British to the bone and going to work on the Fourth of July, the day that Britain declared independence from America. The truth was far less silly; the home office of the insurance company had neglected to mention that I did not need to come to the law firm for federal holidays.

I was not alone, though. The office on the 32nd floor also contained a secretarial pool was, filled with various fish, catching up on work while the attorneys were away from the office. I mostly stuck to my task of auditing files, but once in a while, they would call for me.

"Oh, John!" Mary Fay sometimes called. A green-eyed, bronze skinned blond secretary for the new associates. "My ribbon has gotten stuck! Could you come over and smooth it out?"

"Oh, John!" Mary Day sometimes called. A brown-eyed, brunette secretary with constellations of freckles who worked for two of the partners, one of them named. "I was about to get some coffee. Would you like me to make you some tea?"

"Oh, John!" Mary May sometimes called. A grey-eyed, raven haired with porcelain skin secretary for Gale of Gale Pearl & Riese. She said nothing else, just looked me up and down.

I would smooth ribbons, decline tea, and pretend looks weren't happening. I was trusted with handling accounting, not women.

I was also trusted with answering phones. "Gale Pearl & Riese?"

"Oh, John!" Leo was calling. The partners and associates were at a Fourth of July picnic in Great Neck. The alcohol that one of the name partners had ordered had not come through. Spotting a moment of opportunity, Leo had said that he knew of a place back in the city that could help. And he was sure I would, too. "Can you do a pick up at the Knot Here and bring them over?"

I told him I could see what I could do. While I was certain that I would fail in transporting a case of bathtub gin somewhere in a city that I was not familiar with, I was also certain that another minute in the office would guarantee the failure of my virtue.

The Knot Here was closed. I was told this by the Irish Ape who stood guard in front of it. I knew this was incorrect because I heard sounds of a party from behind him and the wood door.

"May I please speak to the owner?"

"Owner's busy."

"Busy tending a closed bar?"

"I said she's busy."

"I need to make a delivery for my firm."

"Firm?" This caught the Irish Ape's attention. "Are you a lawyer?"

"Well, no, not me -"

"Then the owner's busy."

"But the people I work for are lawyers."

The Irish Ape smiled. "Your lawyers owe me a favor, okay? They owe me a favor and I'll get the owner."

"What kind of a favor?"

He did not answer as he left to get the owner. A few minutes later, Polly came out, wiping her hands on a towel.

"How can I help, Darlin'?"

"How did you remember my name?" I asked. I had not been back to the Knot Here since my initial visit.

"I remember everybody's name." Polly threw the towel over her bare shoulder. She was in overalls and a stained, green silk blouse. "How can I help?"

"I need a case of gin delivered to Great Neck."

"Do you even know where Great Neck is?"

I began to point left of me.

"No."

The right.

"No."

I took a chance and pointed at the sky.

She took my arm and pointed northwest. "That way. For at least twenty miles." She shook her head. "I don't run a delivery service, Darlin', namely because I don't have a car. I'm sorry, I can't help you with anythin'." She turned to go back into the Knot Here. Polly had almost closed the door when I remembered something crucial.

"My Aunt Myrtle has a car. The garage isn't far from here and she said I could use it in emergencies in her absence."

The door slowly opened again. "Can you pay for gas?"

"Yes."

"Can you pay for the gin?"

"Yes."

"Will you let me drive?"

"You're going to have to, I'm afraid I don't know how."

Polly grabbed my hand and shook it. "Then we have a deal, Darlin'."


End file.
